


Dreams Are Fickle Things

by alexthebookish



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post-Book 1: King of Scars, because they're sad, general sadness, hand holding, hopeless nikolai is not fun, idek man, just..., nikolai has given up, rule of wolves, the angst is real, very much angst, zoyalai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28783935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexthebookish/pseuds/alexthebookish
Summary: Inspired by today's ROW teaser: “This was safe, simple, nothing like the quiet of his bedchamber, his hand tight in hers.”
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Dreams Are Fickle Things

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, Leigh posted a Zoya pov teaser on her Instagram today, and because I would sell my soul for more Zoyalai, it made my day. However, the line that interested me the most—and by interested, I mean ‘made me stand up and actually let out a little yell’ was this. “This was safe, simple, nothing like the quiet of his bedchamber, his hand tight in hers.”  
> I KNOW!  
> And so now I’ve written that fic because it’s kind of also a scene that’s been floating around in my brainspace for a long time? Anyway, here ya go—comments are adored as always!

She didn’t know what made her go to his door.

As far as she knew, they had defeated his monster. Call it old habit, call it sentimentality, but General Zoya Nazyalensky found herself standing outside her king’s bedchamber, hand poised to knock.

She hesitated, brow furrowing slightly as she heard footsteps from within—evenly spaced, pausing at equal intervals. He was pacing across the floor. With a deep breath, she pushed the door open.

He looked up, and she stopped at the doorway in pure shock that she was unable to hide. His eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks were tear-streaked, his face was crumpled. “Zoya?” He asked, voice raw with emotion.

“Nikolai?” Her voice was edged with disbelief. Maybe this was all a dream; maybe she had gone to sleep and this was some fantastical oddity that her mind had imagined up. He stagged a step back, a series of emotions flashing across his handsome features, too quick for Zoya to read. After a moment, he settled on a cool mask of indifferent unreadability.

“Was there something you needed, Nazyalensky?” His voice was uncharacteristically icy, the slightest quaver at the end like he was trying to hold this up.

“We’re going to get through this.” The words tumbled out, decidedly not what she meant to say. _Just leave,_ her mind had urged, _leave, and go before you get hurt._

“No we’re not.” His voice was bleak, empty façade finally crumbling to reveal a tired boy, a young man with such a heavy burden. “I’m out of ideas, Zoya. It’s over, Ravka’s going to fall, and I’m probably going to have to kill that man—kill my father—to even attempt to salvage this. I don’t have anything left up my sleeve.”

_Maybe they were_ going to fail. She had never seen—or even imagined—Nikolai hopeless. His relentless optimism, his unnatural charm, his flow of ideas was what got them—all of them—through the mess that was this country, and they were just as much a part of him as his blond hair. But she couldn’t let that happen. She had to pull him together, be the harsh general that he required, force him to keep this country marching on. And she couldn’t let him fall apart, not now. As much as she almost wanted to comfort him, that was not what she was good at, and not what she needed. He would have a wife for that soon, anyway. 

“Don’t you dare give up.” She said, almost a snarl. “Don’t you dare. This country needs you, Nikolai.”

He leaned back, falling onto his bed with a sigh, and just… deflating. It was more disheartening than the crying, more terrifying than his words. King Nikolai Lantsov didn’t give up. King Nikolai Lantsov adapted. He thought his was out of everything, stayed calm under pressure… but it was easy to forget that a king is just a man. And men—even the best men—can lose hope, and once they do, they fail.

And maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, and it was most definitely not what she knew she should do, but in a moment of weakness, Zoya sat beside him and took his hand.  
His grip instinctively tightened on hers, warm and welcoming and so damn it, what if her breath did hitch a little when he ran his finger over her palm? He was to be married soon anyway. “Zoya.” He repeated, sitting up halfway. “Just… lie to me. Tell me that it’s going to be ok. Tell me that… that I am going to think of something and get us out of this.”

She squeezed his hand tighter, hyperaware of the silence surrounding them. “It’s going to be ok. You’re going to think of something and get us out of this.” _Even if you destroy your own happiness to do it._ She added mentally, knowing that it was true. That he would give everything he had and then some, that he would sacrifice himself without a second thought.

Part of what made him such a good king, but Zoya selfishly wished that sometimes he would be more self-serving, just a little less heroic, and that they could just leave this behind. That he lived somewhere where he didn’t have to cry in secret and then pretend it was all ok. But that was just a dream, and dreams are fickle things.

For tonight, she just had to be the ruthless general and keep him marching until he broke.

**Author's Note:**

> Rereading this I kinda feel like I stole the whole 'marching' thing from SoC, but it wasn't intentional?


End file.
